


If I Had it To Do Over Again

by Shaddyr



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-01
Updated: 2004-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddyr/pseuds/Shaddyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A look at might what have happened if Spike hadn't been nabbed by the Initiative. This fic features Evil!Spike as alluded to by in the episode, Never Leave Me, when he said, "Cuz it's no fun if they don't cry..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take One: Still Evil After All These Years

_The woman looked around to get her bearings. She was flush with excitement, but carefully schooled her features into a Mona Lisa smile. Something momentous was happening tonight in this little town on the Hellmouth, she could feel it._

She fingered the pendant at her throat as she concentrated. There it was. A pull, calling to her. She answered.

***

 

Spike took a quick glance behind him. Satisfied that he'd lost her, he slipped into the crypt he'd taken up residence in the night before. He made his way across the room and gingerly eased himself back on the sarcophagus. He hissed in pain as every bruise and scrape made itself known. Bloody chit was going to be the death of him yet. He chuckled quietly. As irritating as it was to have her constantly kicking his ass, he had to admit that he enjoyed their dance. Got his blood singing, made him almost feel alive. Smiling, he recalled their encounter, the zinging commentary, watching her lithe body flying at him, the rush he always got when fighting a Slayer more intense with her than it had ever been with the others. God, what she did to him...

He frowned at where his thoughts were going. Nothing special about this one he told himself. Might enjoy the dance, but it wasn't going to stop him from ripping her throat out and drinking from that pretty little neck. He shifted, then winced as his gut reminded him of the last kick the Slayer had landed. Yeah, he was going to rip her throat out - later. Needed a day or so to recuperate first.

The sound of the door crashing open and slamming into the wall informed him that he wasn't going to get that day.

"Oh, Spike," the Slayer carolled his name in a singsong voice as she closed on him, stake in hand. "Why did you run away? I wasn't finished kicking your ass."

Oh, fuck.

"Decided you'd had enough is all, Slayer. Was givin' you a breather," he blustered as he sat up and slid off the tomb and assumed a fighting stance. Broken ribs grated on each other, and he couldn't suppress grunt of pain.

Buffy gave him a wicked smile. "Aww, what's the matter, Spike? A little sore? Come on, let me help. I'll make it all better - permanently."

He opened his mouth to toss out a witty rejoinder, but she rushed him before he could get the words out. Her stake slashed down at his chest, and he twisted, then stuck out his foot and gave her a shove, sending her sprawling in the dirt. He backed away, readying himself for her next attack, snickering at her furious look. Her eyes' glinted dangerously in the moonlight that spilled though the open crypt door.

"Tsk, tsk, Slayer. Getting a little cocky, aren't you?" he sneered. "M'not that easy to kill. Thought you would have learned that by now."

Her mouth set in a grim line and she came at him again, more controlled this time, and the battle was joined. There were no more smart-assed comments; just bodies whirling through space, grunts and exclamations as fists and feet flew through the air, sometimes missing, more often connecting. They both knew this was the final fight, and only one of them was going to walk away this time.

She was tiring, Spike could tell. She'd already been patrolling for a few hours when he'd run into her earlier that evening on the campus grounds, complaining bitterly about the vampire she was dusting not being a challenge. He'd been tempted to just lurk and watch, but the comment had stung and as usual, his impatience had won out over his caution. That, and the fact that he'd been standing on the edge of an embankment above her, and thought he'd heard something - he'd looked over his shoulder to check it out and somehow misstepped, sending him sliding down the hill to end up in an unceremonious heap just a few yards from where she stood.

After some snarking and a few tentative jabs, they'd gone at it full swing, pounding on each other as though the fate of the world depended on the outcome of the battle. Her final kick had been the one responsible for his now broken ribs, and he had decided that retreat was in order. Live to fight another day and all. He'd managed to stomp on her ankle hard enough to put her out of commission so he could run. He'd listened to her cursing all the way across the commons, and been somewhat impressed by her inventiveness at the time. He should have known she'd be too pissed off by that little manoeuvrer to leave off for the night.

His ruminations distracted him enough that she managed to get through his guard and pop him one on the nose, bringing a fountain of blood gushing forth. "Fucking hell, Slayer!" He blocked her next blow, then sent her flying into the far wall before reeling away, bringing the back of his hand up to stem the tide. "What *is* it with you and my nose?" he snarled.

She pushed away from the wall, shook her head as if to clear it, and started for him again, stake upraised. He braced himself, ready for the next round. Then it happened. Fate threw a curve ball, and the Slayer missed it. In mid-stride, the heel of her boot snapped off, sending Buffy stumbling - right into his arms.

They were face-to-face for one instant, a second that stretched on for a year. He saw her face register surprise, consternation, shock, and then he was spinning her around, twisting her arms up behind her. She struggled to regain her balance, to get free, but he had the advantage. He forced her over to the sarcophagus, pushed her up against it, held her there with the weight of his body. With one hand, he grasped her wrists, making sure they remained trapped between their bodies, then reached up with the other one to grab her ponytail and yank her head to the side. He could feel her tremble beneath him as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

"Mmmmmm, Slayer," he murmured against her smooth skin, his tongue tracing along the vein throbbing there. She wriggled desperately, trying to free herself, but he had her well and truly pinned. She tried kicking him, but he just laughed, entangling her legs with his own.

"Let me go," she ground out and he laughed again.

"I don't think so," he replied, shifting into game face. "Been waiting for this for a long time, Slayer. Finally got my one good day." He dragged his fangs down her neck, scoring twin trails of red on the pale flesh, bringing a renewed frenzy of struggling from the Slayer. He hardly noticed, the heady ambrosia of her blood exploding on his tongue, singing in his mouth, making him hard. Buffy froze beneath him, and he grinned against her neck, lapping at the scratches.

"S'matter, pet?" he taunted silkily, grinding against her. Her scent changed, now laced with fear as she realized she was in for more than just being drained dry.

"Spike..." Her voice was shaking. "Don't you dare…" she trailed off.

"Don't dare what?" He licked the scratches again, this time letting his tongue wander up to her jaw line, then brought his mouth to her ear, nibbling on the lobe. She gasped.

"Don't touch me!" it was a harsh whisper. "You're gonna pay for that…"

He drew his fangs down her neck again, the furrows deeper this time, blood welling up and spilling across her skin in meandering little patterns. He carefully lapped it, his arousal building with every drop, when another scent hit him. It couldn't be... but it was. Under the fear she was trying to hide, and the bravado she was clinging to like a shield, there was the merest hint of her own arousal, growing stronger with every lick of his tongue. He chuckled. Oh, this was rich. He moved his mouth down to the healed scar that smelled of the Poof. Yeah, looked like the Slayer'd had a taste of blood play sometime in the past. This was going to make her defeat all the more sweet.

"Turning you on am I, pet?"

He almost lost her then. She turned into a screaming wildcat, thrashing and hissing, struggling with all her might. She threw her head back, head butting him, bringing waves of pain to his already abused nose. He growled and twisted her arms cruelly, then smashed her head into the stone sarcophagus, stunning her. Bloody chit was going to pay for that.

"Right then," he snarled, yanking her head back to expose her throat once more. "Was going to do this the easy way, pet, but hard works for me just as well."

She cried out as he sank his fangs in deep, drinking her in hard, fast pulls. He listened to her heartbeat as it accelerated, trying to keep up with the demand, to supply and ever-dwindling supply of blood to her battered body. He could smell her arousal growing in spite of herself. As her struggles abated, he slowed down, stopping only when she was too weak to fight him anymore.

Spike was flying high. He felt 20 feet tall, strong as a hundred vampires, giddy with the power that came from Slayer blood. It was thrumming through him, making his head spin, making his cock so hard he was sure it was going to burst right through his jeans. Being pressed up against the Slayer's hot little peach of an ass was just making things that much worse. It was time to take care of that little problem.

He released her arms, and they fell bonelessly at her sides. She would have slipped to the floor if he had not been holding her in place. He reached around her to undo her jeans, then slipped his thumbs in the waistband, pulling them down to her knees. She struggled weakly.

"Spike, no, please..."

He stopped for a moment when he realized she was crying, reached out with a finger to wipe the tears from her cheek, brought them to his mouth. They tasted of fear and salt and sadness. Doing this used to be so sweet, but something was off this time.

*She's all around you.*

Dru's voice echoed in his head, haunting him. He snarled and yanked his own jeans down. "Gonna be all around me, all right!" he declared as he grabbed her hips and rubbed his swollen cock down the crevice of her ass and brought it to rest at her damp quim. Damp, but not entirely ready, he realized. Would hurt her a fair amount if she wasn't ready. He took a step back, brought one hand down and slid a finger into her. As he used another to tease her clit, he wondered why the hell he cared.

"Just trying to make a point here, luv," he said, speaking more for his own benefit then hers. "Yeah, that's it. Gonna make the Slayer come for a demon. I know you want it."

She moaned, not a sound of pleasure so much as it was of grief, and he grimaced. This would not do at all, ruining the bloody mood it was. He slipped his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him, and slid a hand under her shirt to cup one pert breast, tweaking the nipple while he kept up his assault on the hard nub. He felt her growing wetter, her breathing more rapid, his hands bringing her to full arousal in spite of her protestations.

"There's a good Slayer," he murmured into her neck before nipping at her earlobe again. "You're gonna like this." He leaned her back over the sarcophagus, grabbed her hips and angled her just right - then plunged fully into her in one swift thrust.

Buffy screamed, and Spike's eyes nearly crossed at the sensation. He could have come on the spot, but he grit his teeth and held back. He was going to make this last. The Slayer was sobbing now, trying to scrabble away from him, but he held her fast.

"You're not goin' anywhere, pet," he advised her as he pulled back, then slammed forward once more. "Oh, fuck, Slayer! You're so tight!" he groaned, revelling in the feel of her.

"Ghhhnn," was all she managed in response.

He reached around to flick the small nerve bundle once more, eliciting a shudder. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

"Oh, yeah, that's good, eh baby?" he taunted her, starting a slow and steady rhythm. He slid out of game face then nipped at her neck, sucking and licking in time with his thrusts. He could feel the pressure building – he wasn't going to last much longer in her wet heat, and he was bound and determined to make her come before he did.

He pulled away and then flipped her on her back. She lay before him, pale, shaking, sweaty - utterly delicious. He pushed her knees back, realized the jeans were in the way, and stripped them off her. Once again she tried to scramble free, but he just crawled on top of her, grinning at her struggles.

"M'not done with you." He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head and used his free hand to rip her shirt open, buttons popping everywhere. Another yank had her bra off, exposing her fully to him. She squirmed and thrashed, tears of anger and humiliation rolling down her cheeks. He leaned in and captured one nipple in his mouth, flicking over it with his tongue, sucking hard as he slid his other hand back between her legs, fingers delving into her slick centre.

"No!" she sobbed out, even as her body responded to his ministrations. He kept it up, and soon he felt her hips begin to rise to meet his thrusting fingers. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, made sure she was watching as he licked them clean, then positioned himself between her legs and pushed into her slowly. After taking a moment to steady himself, he picked up the rhythm, driving into her at a furious pace. He was on the brink, could tell she was too, and he vamped out, sliding his fangs into her neck. She let out a low wail, internal muscles clenching around him, the double sensation of being seated in her hot core and drinking her in sending him over the edge as well. He came hard, the blood flowing down his throat drawing out the orgasm, expanding it to mind-bending proportions.

As Spike came down, he realized two things. The first was that he was ruined for life - or unlife as the case may be. After being in the Slayer's hot little quim, he really couldn't imagine being anywhere else. The second thing was that the except for his ragged, unnecessary breathing, the crypt was totally silent. He pulled back in shock, and looked down on the still form beneath him.

The Slayer was dead.

He scrambled to his knees, pulled her limp body forward, and slapped her face lightly. "C'mon Slayer, you're stronger than this!" Her head lolled to one side. Anxious, he eased her back down, it his wrist, placed it over her mouth.

"Have a sip then, luv. Come across, stay with me..." Her lips were remained still, unresponsive to his entreaty.

He shook his head, disbelieving. "You can't be dead!" he yelled. "I've been trying to kill you for years! You're like a bloody weed that keeps popping up between the cracks of the sidewalk! You're not like the others!"

Her pale, silent form mocked him. He stumbled back off the sarcophagus, across the crypt, away from her. Warm Slayer blood still sang through him, and part of him, the base demon instincts, delighted in the surge of power it imparted. But all he could do was stare at her.

He slid down the wall and leaned his head back against the hard stone. "Fucking hell!"

Spike let out a humourless chuckle. He'd always been too impetuous. Angelus had almost staked him on more than one occasion for having no self-control. He slammed his head back against the wall, once twice, a third time.

He leaned forward, elbows to knees, and settled his forehead in his hand. "One bloody lesson I could have stood to learn from the arrogant prick." He looked up for a moment to gaze at the Slayer's body one more. "If I had it to do over again, it would be different, pet. Wish I could. Things'd be different."

****

_Standing at the doorway, the dark-haired woman who had been silently observing smiled. The smooth skin of her face suddenly morphed into a mass of streaks and veins._

"Granted."


	2. Take Two: Play it Again, Spike

He rolled over with a groan, lights exploding behind his eyes.

"Bloody, buggering fuck!" The curses bubbled out of him as he clutched his head. "There is *no way* I drank enough American swill to earn this hangover!"

As the world gradually began to right itself, he spied the Jack Daniels bottle beside him on the sarcophagus.

Oh. That might explain it.

Spike fumbled for the whiskey, almost knocking it to the floor before getting a grip on the neck. Lifting it to eye level, he tried to check the alcohol level in the bottle. Or… Bottles? It was a little hard to tell, his eyes still weren't cooperating. He shook his head, then dropped the JD to press his hands to his temples as the pounding set back in with a vengeance.

He took a deep breath, sighed a deep sigh. Completely unnecessary, yet it never failed to make him feel a little better. The jackhammers in his skull receded to a dull pain and he carefully picked the bottle back up. Nothing for it like a little hair of the dog.

He frowned as he unscrewed the cap. Even through the painful hangover haze, he could tell something was… off. He glanced around the crypt, trying to figure it out. Tossing back a swig of Jack, he enjoyed the slow burn down his throat as he mentally catalogued the room. Coat on the floor where he'd thrown it the night before. A few bottles from his binge. Except… Spike scratched his head. He didn't remember drinking last night, pounding in his head notwithstanding. He didn't remember doing anything after he'd killed the Slayer-

"Augh!" Spike leapt off the tomb, sending the whiskey bottle flying across the room to smash into the wall. He backpedaled across the crypt and tripped over his own feet to land hard on his arse, adding a throbbing backside as accompaniment to the aching chorus in his head. He stared up at the empty marble surface he'd occupied a moment before, breathing hard, and wondered if he was losing what was left of his mind.

The Slayer. She was dead. He'd drained her himself. In that very spot. If he'd had a heartbeat, it would've been galloping like a racehorse. He forced his breathing to slow down, and tried to think. Maybe he'd crawled back up there after having a celebratory drink. Except he had no memory of doing any such thing. And also, where'd the chit's body gotten to?

Spike rose unsteadily to his feet and walked back to the sarcophagus. He peered around it – no body on the floor. He gave the crypt a quick once over. He hadn't gone and tucked it behind any pillars or in a corner. Finally, he shoved the lid aside. Nothing in the stone coffin but some moldering old bones.

His brows drew together in consternation – and then he started to laugh. It had to have been a dream. An unbelievably real, intense, erotic, very detailed dream.

"Fucking unbelievable," he muttered as he fished his fags out of his duster. He settled down on the sarcophagus and lit one up. He gave himself a brief inspection. Other than the pounding in his head, there were no injuries on his body. He smiled as he took another drag, and focused on what he could remember.

Which seemed to be everything, surprisingly. Fighting in the clearing, their final face-off in the crypt – and the feeling of sliding in the Slayer's hot, wet quim. Spike found himself hard at the thought. Flicking the butt on the floor, he laid back and undid his jeans, grasping his cock as he lost himself in the sensations. The Slayer, all weak and trembling, unable to fight him off. Sinking into her, over and over, then sliding his fangs into her neck-

He came with a strangled growl, thick pearly ropes of spunk splattering his hand and chest, panting as though he needed to. He looked down. Fuck. He was gonna have to change his shirt.

 

***

Spike was chomping at the bit to get out. As soon as the sun was low enough to leave the crypt safely, he was headed across the cemetery. He wanted a meal, a fight, a beer and a shag, and not necessarily in that order. As he strolled along, his thoughts kept turning to the Slayer and her hot little body. How good it felt in his dream. And disturbingly, how in his dream he'd been upset over killing her.

"Pfft. Just didn't wanna waste such a fine piece of ass," he mumbled to himself, annoyed at the thought. It was just a dream, after all. Even though it didn't feel like any dream *he'd* ever had before.

He meandered down what passed for the main drag in Sunnyhell, then spotted dinner. There was a woman headed through a dark alleyway rooting around in her purse. Probably looking for her keys or some such. He tsked as he picked up his pace and headed to intercept her. People in this town were so blind. A few seconds later he was right behind her.

"Need a hand, luv?"

He smirked as she spun around, startled.

"Uh, no... uhm, I'm f-fine, thanks," she replied, backing away as she eyed the distance to the other end of the alley where a car was parked. He moved in closer.

"Not safe walkin' through dark alleys alone, pet. You sure you don't want someone to walk with you?"

She glanced between him and the car, obviously torn. Spike glanced behind them briefly. They were far enough in. He turned back to find she was speaking.

"No, really, thanks all the same, but I'm fine."

His lips curled into a truly evil smile. "Oh, no pet. You're really, really not."

She didn't even have a chance to scream before his fangs were in her jugular, his hand slapped over her mouth. And it was the strangest thing, but as he drank, Spike had the oddest sense of déjà vu. He'd done this exact same thing hundreds of times before, but the woman's blood tasted familiar. The scent of her perfume as it mingled with the odour of her sweat, terror and blood – he could almost swear that he'd eaten her before.

And then she was dead in his arms and he was easing her down, propping the body up behind a handy dumpster. Chalk another one up to 'mysterious animal attack and death by blood loss' in the wilds of downtown Sunnyhell. He spared her one last, somewhat perplexed look, then walked away.

 

***

The Bronze was hopping, teeny boppers and college students crammed wall to wall. Spike sashayed through the throng as though he belonged there, bestowing a sexy grin on the girls looking his way he settled in at the bar. The sense of déjà vu that had been haunting him was even stronger now. He ordered a beer and scanned the crowd.

Wasn't like he hadn't been in the joint before. It had to be the dream. He'd come here in his dream, before he'd run into the Slayer. And almost tripped over the superfriends on his way out. Chances were her little band of white hats weren't even- his eyes narrowed as he spied a shock of red hair. There they were, just a few tables away. The whelp, the witch and the werewolf. Spike snickered. CS Lewis was probably turning in his grave.

Well, he knew where they were, so no danger of stumbling into them now. As he sipped his beer, he strained to overhear their conversation, but the din of the crowd drowned most of it out. What he did catch mostly sounded like adolescent prattle anyway – music, school and dates. Nothing about the Slayer or any new Big Bads in town. He downed the rest of the bottle, then melted into the crowd. Time to go see what kind of trouble he could get into.

A quick, unplanned stop at Willie's gave him the spot of violence he'd been craving. Smart mouthed young fledge who didn't know his head from his ass, and didn't head the warnings a couple of the older vampires hissed at him. Obviously a football jock or some such before he'd been turned, the upstart had taken a look at Spike and decided to kick some ass.

"Spike *please*!" Willy wailed from behind the bar, as Spike sent the fledge sailing into the glass shelves behind it. "I just finished fixing the place after the Slayer came in here half drunk and smashed things up!"

Spike grinned maniacally as he leaned over the bar and grabbed the other vampire by the neck. "You don't say?" he asked conversationally as he hauled the demon back up and tossed him across the room. Spike leaned an elbow on the counter as he spoke to the cowering bartender. "The Slayer? Drunk? And no one here thought that might be a good time to finish the bint *off*?"

Other demons around the bar looked away as he shook his head in mock despair. "Are you all *very* stoned? S'like an engraved invitation! Here I am, drunk off my head. Eat me, please!"

The fledge on the floor began to stir, and Spike overturned a chair, snapping off leg. "I swear," he lectured as he stepped over to the groaning vampire, "If I want something done right in this town, I've got to do it myself."

With a swift thrust, he pinned his opponent to the floor. The fledge screamed, then poofed out of existence.

"Speaking of which, I've got a Slayer to find."

 

***

Spike didn't really have a plan other than 'find Slayer, kill Slayer'. Or, possibly, 'make dream come true'. Yeah, that wouldn't be a bad way to spend the evening. And as he mulled over the possibilities, his feet carried him unerringly to the site where it had all begun. He looked around in surprise.

"Well. Guess the ol' subconscious was really hoping… that things... might…" he trailed off, mouthing gapping open. Unfolding before him was the *exactly scene from his dream*! The Slayer was running, chased by a big, lumbering oaf of a vampire, drawing him away from the dormitories. As she turned to engage him, Spike regained his senses.

"This time, it's going down a little differently, pet," he muttered quietly, then took a leap off the embankment he was watching from. Spike heard her goad the other demon as he made a controlled descent down the steep hillside, and he reached bottom just as she staked the vampire and started to complain.

"I don't think the forces of darkness are even trying. I mean, you could make a little effort here, you know?"

He pulled out a fag.

"Give me something to work with."

The quiet 'snick' as he flicked open his Zippo got her attention and she whirled around. He smirked as he lit the cigarette, enjoying how her eyes got big and round with surprise.

"Ask and ye shall receive, Slayer."

"Spike."

He doubted that it was possible to pack more contempt into one word. He blew smoke in her direction.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I should think that would be bloody obvious. I'm here to kill you, of course."

She snorted. "Oh, right, like the last time." She looked up at the sky, beseechingly. "I thought I said I something I could work with?"

"Hey!" he barked out, annoyed. _Cocky little bint, I'll show her what's the what._ He threw the cigarette down and circled to her right.

Buffy mirrored the action and smiled sweetly. "So, Spike. How's that freckle thing workin' out for you?"

He sneered. "I've decided that sunshine is highly overrated." He feinted, she blocked, they parted and circled each other again. "So, Slayer. You still mopping after that sod? S'that why you got all pie eyed and totalled Willie's place?"

She aimed a kick at his head, missed. He landed a punch, she got him with her elbow. The circled again, reassessing.

"None of your business, asshole!" she bit out, face flushed in anger.

He waggled his eyebrows. "Ooo, did I hit a sore spot? Slayer's got an itch, and no one to scratch it." His voice went velvet smooth as he ran his tongue across his upper lip. "I might be able to help you out with that-"

*Wrong thing to say* he realized as she came at him like a bat out of hell. And then it was fists and feet, elbows and knees, and it was all happening in slow motion for the first time again! He saw the fateful kick coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop it and *crunch*, the sickening sound and feel of his ribs breaking under her assault. And just like he'd dreamed, he stomped and she fell, screaming and cussing. He limped away as fast as he could, her invective following him as he stumbled along.

He headed back to the crypt; there really wasn't anywhere else *to* go. He wasn't about to try Harmony's place, she was likely to stake him as soon as look at him for what he'd pulled with the Gem of Amara. He sat on the edge of the hard stone tomb taking stock of his injuries. Spike couldn't help smiling. Pain and suffering aside, he really did enjoy the dance.

There was obviously a lot more going on than simple déjà vu. He didn't know *why* his dream was coming true, but it was. In which case the Slayer was going to be here any second, and under his power shortly after that. He kicked his lips at the thought. He was going to get that shag tonight after all.

The crypt door slammed open and there, framed by the moonlight, stood one mighty brassed off Slayer.

"Oh, Spike," the she carolled in the same singsong voice, "Why did you run away? I wasn't finished kicking your ass." She brandished the stake menacingly.

He stood to face her, wincing at the pain. "Wanted to take it someplace private, pet. Just you an' me."

She gave him a glare. "You're still a pig."

"I am." He assumed a fighting stance. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she lunged at him with the stake. He dodged and tripped her (again) sending her sprawling. He thought for a moment that it really wasn't fair that he knew what was coming – then smiled evilly. Yeah. Not fair at all. He was really going to enjoy this.

Even with foreknowledge, he wasn't able to avoid all her fists entirely. In evading a particularly painful kick, he left himself open, and she caught him full in the nose. He spun away, outraged.

"Fuck!" He glared at her. "You *still* got that one in! God DAMMIT!"

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, then shrugged and came at him with the stake. *This is IT* his mind screamed. *This is when it happens!*

And it did. In mid-stride, the heel of her boot snapped off, sending Buffy stumbling. But unlike in his dream, Spike was a little farther away. Just far enough that she was able to get her stake up before he caught her. And to bring it down, full force before he could get his arms entirely around her.

A burning pain, worse then any exposure to the sun ripped through him. Warm Slayer in his arms, but he could feel himself turning to dust.

"Bloody..."

poof

Buffy brushed the dust off her clothes and walked out of the crypt. Willow, Xander and Oz were waiting for her at the Bronze, and she *really* needed to wash the vamp dust out of her hair before she went dancing.


End file.
